Play Again?
by heisaspider
Summary: Sherlock's life gives a turn when his formal enemy returns from the dead in an amazing timing, just when he is forced to leave behind everything he cares about. Nobody messes with Sherlock Holmes other than James Moriarty.
1. Chapter 1

**_"It's raining…"_**

* * *

><p>"Oh for God's sake make up your mind, I've only been gone for four minutes" cried Sherlock on the phone<p>

"Well little brother I certainly hope you've learnt your lesson. You are needed." answered Mycroft

"_Who_ needs me?"

Mycroft exclaimed reluctant. "England."

There was a pause, Sherlock exhaled annoyed. He hated when his brother played mysterious.

"Could you _please_ be more specific?"

"You are going to need to see it for yourself"

Several minutes passed which seemed like an eternity until the plane landed right from where it took off a moment before. When the detective looked at Mary and John through the window and to everything that he was leaving behind, he really had thought that he was looking at it all for the last time.

The gates opened and he rushed down the plane's stairs. His brother had planted in him an unpleasant feeling of anxiety that wasn't going to leave until he saw what the fuss was all about.

John, Mary and Mycroft were all gathered near the car with worried expressions. Sherlock run through past them brusquely.

"Sherlock, do you know anything about this? How can this be possible? He _has_ to be dead" said John trying to believe his own words.

"Take a peek over there" Mycroft pointed out to the car's dashboard where a tiny screen kept going crazy.

Sherlock did so, he leaned out to see and… no.

_"Miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?" _the screen kept repeating.

"Moriarty." Sherlock muttered almost breathless.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was quiet all the ride to 221B. He had left John and Mary but not before having to listen to all of his best friend's questions and worries about the master criminal sudden return. When he finally arrived, he run into a surprised and upset Mrs. Hudson.<p>

"Sherlock! Oh dear thank God you're here again. He… that… man appeared on the…" Sherlock didn't really have time for this so he interrupted her.

"It's good to see you too" he replied sarcastically "and yes that's obviously why I'm here and if you don't mind" he pushed her out of the way to get as far as he could to his flat so he would be able to think about all this.

As soon as he opened the door he felt a renewed feeling of safety and comfort. Everything was slightly dark to be daytime, the curtains were half closed, it started raining. It didn't matter though, it was better like that. He needed to think about all the stuff that had happened in the last hours. All England had listened to and seen the face of his biggest enemy. James Moriarty. Without apparent reason, he just simply returned from the dead, just as he did honestly. -Only managing to be even more dramatic.-

Was there anything he'd been sure these past two years was that Moriarty had died, he had killed himself right in front of him. And yet there he was, seemingly alive.

Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth.

"I was _just _checking out your room."

Sherlock jumped on his place and turned to look to the kitchen.

"The _love nest_ I believe they're calling it now right?" the dark voice chuckled "don't worry I _know_ nothing happened there."

The familiar body walked slowly towards the detective who was more startled than what he let his face show.

"Oh c'mon Sherlock. Not even a small welcome? A hug maybe? No? Uhm, pity…" the criminal stopped a few inches from the taller one. "Did you miss me? "


	2. Chapter 2

**"Miss me?"**

* * *

><p>The fact that the master criminal could break into his house any time he wanted was not a surprise for him. Yet he didn't expect to encounter him this soon. He wanted to put his thoughts in order but it seemed like nobody would help him with that today, not even Moriarty.<p>

_"Did you miss me?"_

Sherlock wouldn't admit it but since he defeated his enemy –at least he thought he did-, his loss had left a strange feeling in him. A feeling he wasn't able to fully recognize. He wasn't mourning for him of course…or was he?. That was ridiculous. Jim asked a simple question.

"I don't like people entering to my room" dismissing the question, not a really good sign, but he needed to change the topic. "but then _again_ I suppose you're not like most people"

Jim was serious now.

"And I don't like people dismantling my beautiful criminal network" Jim replied with a dry voice. "but you… you earned that right" he let out a little prideful smirk.

Sherlock was silent now and after a moment the other continued.

"Of course, slipping away the fact that you didn't. You _did_ a good job these past two years. A complete one? No." Jim's tone was a mocking one. "Still I gave up a lot of it. For you. My dear"

Sherlock could not deny that he was impressed, amazed, his heart beating like it always did near him. Nobody, absolutely anybody in this world could challenge Sherlock the way Jim did. He didn't hate him. He never did, John loathed him, as well as Mycroft and the rest of the world, but not him.

Sherlock noticed the familiar flirtatious tone he was using, he never took it seriously –not because he didn't want to- but the facts were the facts and those were that Moriarty had risked lives, spent stupid amounts of money, suffered torture, and now, sacrificed a big part of his brilliant planned network just to talk to him or to get his attention. He always assumed he was just obsessed. But what if he was seeing it all the wrong way?

"Oh please tell your brain to shut up. It's getting annoying." Jim shook his head in a bored manner.

"Did you figure it out Sherlock? Do know how I did it? I _did_ give you time…"

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, Jim always did this, he _loved_ to see him dance. Finding the words he continued.

"A blood-bag of course, and I presume the sound came from the shot of a sniper of yours." He let out the words in a mechanical way.

The criminal nodded clearly amused.

"Do you know how _I_ did it? "

"Oh Sherlock I knew it moments before I shot myself in the mouth" with this a flash of that moment came like a thunder into Sherlock's head and he winced internally trying not to show it. "I saw it all in your eyes. Airbag, everything was perfectly controlled. But honey you can't forget that a spider has many eyes after all"

"And you let me go on with that. You let me dismantle all of your…" Jim made an expression at the word. _"a part of_ your network. Just to prove a point."

"That I can go as far as you sweetie. Maybe even more."

The detective was contemplating all his words when the other one spoke again.

"By the way, my apologies for making such an entrance to the world of the living." He was using a mocking tone again. "But you have to understand that these were desperate times… I thought it was needed considering you were leaving." His eyes moved innocently like a little boy when trying to convince somebody he didn't do anything wrong.

"I should thank you for that I suppose"

"Maybe it's too soon for_ that_, I'll let you to contemplate it for later"

They never moved away from each other, always maintaining eye contact.

A moment of deep silence took over the living room, and then Sherlock saw Jim's hand leaning as to shake his.

The detective took it slowly remembering the last time he felt it and how bad it ended. Wait, bad? No he had won. What was happening to him?

"Welcome back". Sherlock said graciously.

Jim's hand was tight on his and even reached to his wrist almost possessively, which seemed odd. He smiled back almost nicely and his gaze left a glimpse of gratification. This expression replaced the detective's feeling of adrenaline for one of warmth. Both were good but in very different ways.

After a minute the criminal let go his hand and slowly paced to the door of the flat. When he reached it he spoke in an almost hushed tone.

"We'll meet again soon, Sherlock" he wasn't looking at him anymore, he was gazing where their hands had been a moment ago, trying to get hold of the feeling it had left in him. This wasn't right. He was losing control over a stupid thing.

Before leaving the flat he turned around and with a pleased tone he added

"Oh and by the way, _you did miss me_." Sherlock lifted his gaze to meet Jim's now, surprised. "I took your pulse"

Oh. James Moriarty never left questions unanswered.

And with the most playful smirk he left, leaving behind a baffled and exposed Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: That theory of Moriarty has been going around amongst the fandom, it wasn't an idea of mine, I read it a long time ago so whoever wrote it, bless you~<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

It was a cloudy day. No, in fact it was _that_ cloudy day, that day two years ago. Jim was in front of him, shaking his hand. It was happening again, he knew what the criminal was about to do this time but he couldn't move, he couldn't stop him from killing himself. It was like he was forced to live that moment again but without being able to change a thing.

"NO!" he shouted watching the body of the other man fall dead to the floor.

Everything was blurry.

Now he was at the edge of the building preparing to fall. Only this time he _really_ was going to fall, to die.

He then felt a touch on his back and he turned around. Jim was there, alive. Again.

Sherlock stepped out of the edge when Jim stretched out his hand to him and when they were face to face he leaned in closer to the taller one and murmured in his ear:

"I don´t want you dead"

He felt a shiver so strong that it traveled through all his body and woke him up.

When he opened his eyes the feeling was still there. So vivid it felt awfully real.

He sleepily gazed over the bedroom to prove that he was in fact alone.

Groaning and sulking he got up of bed. It was more of an instinctive action, there were no reasons for him to get up, what he really wanted was to wash away the images of that dream out of his head before he could process them all.

Dragging his feet he went to the bathroom and got himself into a more than enough hot shower. He closed his eyes when the water had soaked and dropped his hair on his forehead, supporting himself with his arms on the walls, like he needed to hold himself from falling to the floor. These last five days since the encounter with Jim had brought with them new feelings to him, he was feeling extremely vulnerable.

The glory that had been beating the criminal two years ago never existed, it was a failure, a fraud, Sherlock tried to hold onto that last line of thought because it was rather much preferable than the other one that invaded not only his mind, but also his heart. He had missed him, needed him. Hiding this from himself was harder every time and now even Jim knew.

Ten minutes had passed when he realized he had not moved an inch from where he was. He closed the shower rapidly, got dried, got dressed and got out of the bathroom, emotionless-faced, even though nobody was there to see him. At least he had to try.

* * *

><p>The last two years Jim could have escaped from London, he had done it all there, he should be bored by now. He <em>didn't<em> though, he remained there even though his entire essence cried to him to leave. Because it really was supposed to be boring by now. Right?

Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock was the reason for everything in his life. Nothing could ever change that. Sherlock was his true greatest weakness. The only man who could understand him, who could get a lot close to beating him.

Never in his life had he felt this about somebody. He hated it. He hated him. Or at least he insisted on thinking that. But deep down he knew that such a strong emotion as love was possible for him after all.

He wanted to destroy him, to kill him for making him feel this way. But he was utterly sure he could not live in a world without Sherlock Holmes.

Jim was in his house –a rather regular house not a mansion like he wanted, but he couldn't afford to seek so much attention after his appearance-, standing heavy breathing. Big part of his bedroom was upside down, a broken mirror, a lot of his things on the floor and even his expensive clothes.

Thinking about Sherlock had this effect on him. Violence, occasional self-harming.

He wanted to hate him.

Life was so much easier before the consulting detective.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: Sorry it's a very short chapter, I've been a little stuck with the plot, but now I'm back in the business :3<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

A week had passed after their encounter, and Sherlock had been expecting something to happen at any time.  
>After Magnussen –and of course Moriarty- nothing interesting had happened, London was being very quiet, very calm. There were of course cases, but tedious ones.<p>

Boredom took him to St. Barts. He was very focused on a sample on the microscope when the door of the lab opened.

He looked up a second, knowing of course who it was, but he wanted to know if he was to be interrupted beforehand.

Molly's usual shy expression wasn't there now, she looked rather uncomfortable and worried.

She walked towards him and didn't wait for him to pay attention before she started speaking.

"So, how's everything doing?" she was trying to awkwardly start a conversation but he really knew where this was going.

"Splendid, how is singleness suiting you?" it was more of a rhetorical question, he wanted to irritate her a little.

She didn't really seem bothered.

"Good, yeah, great. Uhm, Sherlock…"

Sherlock cut her off "You want to know if I've got any news on Jim" he barely realized he had used his first name, but he did because of Molly's mildly surprise expression.

He rapidly continued. "Sorry to disappoint you, but no. There's no clue of him yet" Sherlock hoped his own disappointment wasn't so noticeable.

"Well then I'm glad." She was about to leave but then she continued. "I just don't understand, I mean I know you explained to me how he did it but still. What is he looking for?"

"Me" Sherlock replied calm

"You. Yes, but what does he want from you?"

Sherlock didn't reply to that. There was really not an answer yet. She then added

"Sherlock… I know this isn't exactly…"she was looking for the words. "_terrible_ for you and that you're somehow thrilled by this, by him. But this is not a game, he is deadly dangerous"

The detective then stood up and grabbed his coat.

"Oh but molly I _know_ that"

With a sympathetic smile he walked past her and left the lab. Somehow her speech encouraged him to meet the criminal again, although he knew Moriarty had to make the first move.

* * *

><p><p>

When Sherlock got to 221B he was still thrilled by Molly's words. He was obviously losing control, the anxious feeling that had been chasing him the last seven days wouldn't go away. He needed a case immediately.

The life since he came back to Baker St. was different, so different, not the way he had remembered it. John was not there anymore, and getting used to it wasn't as easy as he had thought it would be.

His friend was always texting him though, making up for the fact of leaving him.

This new feeling of loneliness that took hold of him was placed away by the constants thoughts of Moriarty. He was drowning on that man and he couldn't control it.

As he was pacing the room a little too uneasily, he felt his phone vibrate.

He sighed before taking it out of his pocket, it must be John trying to check on him again, he had to admit it was becoming rather tedious by now.

It wasn't him. A private number.

_ "Don't be bored dear. Wanna play?-Jim x"_

He texted back almost immediately with his lips curving into a tiny smile that he didn't even know was there.

_"What I want is a case-SH"_

Twenty seconds passed till the next message

_"And that's what you will get. I'm sending you a pic of the place, you figure out the rest.-Jim x"_

Sherlock received it and started to work it all out. He finished it the same night when he got to the place.

A woman was shot dead and the police had already assumed it to be robbery gone wrong but it was obviously disguised murder, she was a significant drug dealer.

Jim entertained Sherlock with cases for the following two weeks. John joined in to some of them but in fact Sherlock wanted to do this all by himself, this was between Moriarty and him, and of course the unfortunate victims that lead them together.

One night Sherlock was sitting on his couch with his mind in blank and his eyes shut. When he felt the familiar vibrating sound on the table. He opened his eyes hoping it was Jim. They had been texting occasionally, Jim providing Sherlock cases and meanwhile flirting whenever he could, but they never talked about anything else nor saw each other again.

_"Do you remember where we officially first met?-Jim x"_

What kind of question was that? How could he not remember that? He first saw him in St. Bart's… although he _officially_ met _Moriarty_ in the pool.

_"Yes, of course-SH"_

_"See you there in ten. Jim x"_

Sherlock's heart started beating uncontrollably he didn't give it so much a thought, he stood up, took off his dressing gown and got dressed as fast as he could.

In about twelve minutes he was entering the meeting point.

It was as he remembered it. Slightly dark, because it was technically closed, and that usual chlorine smell.

"Hope I'm not too late" he announced in part cynically.

Nobody answered. He started to panic. What if Jim had meant St. Bart's?

Just when he couldn't feel more stupid he got a reply.

"Don't worry, this was the right place" the familiar voice said, going out from the same place he had, several years ago.

Sherlock felt so exposed to him, the man could read his mind better than anyone else.

They both started to walk towards the other slowly.

"So, what's the occasion?" the detective asked.

The other shrugged trying not to look so interested.

"None, I was just bored. Did you like our cases?"

"They kept me entertained enough"

"Marvelous. Your life was being so boring that I decided to intervene a little"

"Thank you" they were getting closer now, and Sherlock could see him better. He looked… strange. Tired, and worn-out. Of course he was stunningly dressed and combed as usual. But he seemed weaker and miserable.

They stopped walking when they were close enough, face to face.

In that moment his phone vibrated loudly. It was obviously John.

He noticed the hint of hatred in Jim's face because he also knew who it was. He rapidly changed it into a more amused one.

"The pet can't leave you alone, eh? Thought that married life would make him less dependent but I was wrong" he paused for a moment and stared into his eyes in that hypnotizing way of his, and then he added. "I understand him though. It _is_ hard to leave you."

Sherlock stared back for what seemed like an eternity. He didn't really know what to say. He just wanted to be there, he couldn't even bring himself to be bothered by Jim calling John his _pet. _That precise moment is what he had been waiting for, for so long.

"You're tired" he finally said

"On a couple of levels, yes" he replied instantly, not thinking. "So tell me how is death Sherlock? You've experienced it enough for a lifetime" he added mockingly.

Jim would never admit it but he had been arranging something special for Mrs. Mary Morstan, he then changed his mind after Sherlock killed a man just so she could live, killing her would have destroyed him and it was too soon for that yet.

"I guess it's worth mentioning that you helped"

"Oh, how so?"

This was embarrassing.

"You, uhm, I recurred to you in my… my last minutes. Actually it was mostly for John in that moment, but it was you… who uhm made me come back" he was speaking too fast and he regretted mentioning this as soon as it came out of his mouth.

Jim flinched at the mention of his friend, but then ignored it and smiled weakly.

"I see, I'm flattered. So I'm in your mind palace… I imagine you don't let me around very often"

Jim felt really tempted with Sherlock's confession to let out his own, or at least a part of it. To let him know Sherlock lives in his mind too, and how he waited for him to come back.

"Well, you're not a very supportive figure on my mind"

"And yet here you are, breathing and everything"

Sherlock didn't know what the real motive of this meeting was but he didn't care either.

Jim walked closer to Sherlock but he didn't back out, he didn't want to. The shorter one kept his gaze even more intense than before, and he didn't seem dangerous anymore, he didn't seem Moriarty, it was Jim.

It looked like he wanted to be dragged into Sherlock's blue eyes, it looked as if he wanted to own him, he looked so helpless that it was overwhelming to see.

Jim slowly fixed his eyes on Sherlock's lips and continued with a dry voice.

"And how was life without _me_?"

It was too much they were so close they could feel each other's breathings.

The taller one replied with an even drier voice.

"Unbelievably boring"

Sherlock didn't know what he was doing but he came closer to Jim. Nothing made sense at all, he wasn't intending to kiss his most lethal enemy, was he?

Well apparently he was, and the criminal seemed to be completely okay with it.

When they were impossibly close something interrupted them. His phone was vibrating once again and he wasn't sure whether to be grateful for stopping him to do something rather ridiculous or to regret ever befriending John.

Jim was in the same state of mind as him, but Sherlock suspected he'd had rather murdered his friend.

In anyways, Jim came back to being Moriarty again. He looked away, straightened his perfectly straight clothes and broke the silence by bitterly adding "You better check on your pet, don't want him thinking you're under bad influences, do you?"

And with that he walked away, not saying goodbye, he just left. And so did Sherlock a moment later.

The cold air of the night was really appreciated, considering he felt all the air leave his lungs a few moments before.

He finally checked his phone. It was indeed John, asking pointless things.

_"Sherlock, any interesting cases?-JW"_

_"Why aren't you answering? What are you doing?-JW"_

He didn't feel like replying, besides, did John really want to know what he had been doing? Absolutely not.

He decided he wanted to walk home this time. Maybe the cold air could take away all the bizarre events of the night.


	5. Chapter 5

The arrival to Baker Street was tough. As soon as he got home he let himself fall onto the couch, the memories of the night wouldn't go away, though he didn't want them to. It was all so confusing.

He didn't realize he hadn't slept until he saw the light of the day pass through his window. He had sat in his chair and remained that way all night, just thinking about that impossible other-self.

He had stayed up awake at night millions of times in his life. But usually the things invading his mind palace were interesting crimes. Not interesting, smart and handsome criminals.

No matter the amount of time he thought about it, he couldn't come to a conclusion of the past night, and not knowing or understanding something wasn't his area of expertise. Basically, he was pissed.

God. He didn't even change his clothes. Less take a shower. This was bordering the pathetic.

Sherlock was standing up, when he heard the unmistakable steps of the doctor walking up the stairs. He was definitely _not_ in the mood to be babysitted right now.

When John entered, Sherlock could perceive a hint of concern on his face John was observing the living room in search of the detective and when he found him that uneasy expression was replaced with a calmer one.

"Sherlock? Oh I was just passing by and…" he tried to pretend coolness and added "did you get my messages?"

"Well yes, why wouldn't I?"

"Yeah okay. But I mean, why didn't you text back? I was worried"

"I can see that, and I also can see that you were hoping I was on an interesting and dangerous case you could step in. Desperation doesn't suit you well John"

The doctor made a barely offended face, not even trying to look surprised at his friend's deductions, he knew better than to argue.

"You always text back. _Were _you onto something?"

"Well, you could say so" the detective let out a tiny amused grin.

John furrowed his eyebrows in confusion expecting an explanation but when he got none he added in exasperation. "Could youelaborate please?"

Sherlock considered lying for a moment, but before he could come up with a perfect story he heard himself saying "Jim Moriarty"

The detective had vaguely mentioned to the doctor their encounter in 221 B three weeks ago, but what could he say about this last one?

The evident tension between the two?

The fact that if it weren't for him they would have probably snogged by the side of a swimming pool in which curiously, Jim had planted bombs on him a few years before?

The fact that he really had wanted to kiss the criminal?

No, not a good idea.

John mouthed something incomprehensible before speaking again.

"Moriarty? Again? Where? Did he come here?"

"We met last night. Swimming pool. Nothing of consideration happened"

That was a funny thing to say, considering no other meeting with the man had left him so puzzled.

"Oh, sweet" the doctor fixed his eyes on the detective standing in front of him, paying close attention to his outfit.

"You didn't change clothes, did you?"

"Excellent observation, too bad you don't do those very often"

"Stop that. Whatever it is he said, he is playing with your mind you know that, right?" The doctor added taking note of the restless semblance of his best friend.

Playing with his mind… The detective had decided that the criminal wasn't faking anything, that slip they had the night before, had been an honest error on his well calculated façade –that he hoped would fail again sometime in the future-

After several more tedious questions from the doctor, he was left alone in his flat, finally able to take a desperately needed shower.

Later in the night he was laying in his bed fidgeting with his phone, the need to hear anything from Jim was overwhelming now. And before he could think it was a bad decision, he texted him.

"_Bored-SH"_

Seemed like a good enough conversation starter. A few seconds passed before receiving a reply.

"_Are you ever not?-JM"_

Of course, he thought, when was Sherlock bored in the presence of Jim Moriarty? Never. He wasn't gonna mention it though.

When he was deciding whether to reply or not, another message came in.

"_I can't imagine what you would do without me then. I do spend a great time trying to entertain you-JM"_

"_To be honest, me neither. I suppose retiring would be of consideration-SH"_

Trying to picture life without the criminal was horrifying. Considering most part of his work was possible thanks to him.

"_Stop, you'll make me blush-JM"_

"_I presume we're not talking about yesterday-SH"_

"_Is there anything to talk about?-JM"_

Sherlock's head was spinning. Was there anything to talk about? He had millions of things to talk about the day before. But evidently nothing the other consulting was willing to share.

"_Probably not-SH"_

"_Liked it better when you used your name-SH"_

"_May I ask for the same?-Jim"_

"_You may-Sherlock"_

It became difficult for Jim not to smile at the text he just got from a certain detective. In fact everything in his life was becoming very difficult because of him.

He didn't want to talk about the night before. He made a stupid mistake –a mistake he knew for a fact would make again as soon as he got the chance-

He was losing himself and he couldn't care less. He'd waited so long for this, for Sherlock. He didn't really know he did, the detective had become an obsession to him of course, but he wasn't happy about it, it was painful most of the time and others he just had fun with it.

But now, this was different, he didn't want to hurt him anymore, to burn him.

That was such an uncomfortable feeling for him. Craving for the only person in the world who has the power to destroy you.

How could this ever work?


	6. Chapter 6

Molly's question was still wandering over his head.

_"__What does he want from you?"_

An enigma. That's what that man was. Does he want anything from him at all? Was he even playing a game with him this time?

He had to, it was Moriarty. Sherlock had to stop thinking of him as a person and maintain the spider figure.

First he was flirting, after that, he was giving him cases, then more flirting. And now, nothing.

No sign of him.

An entire month with no news about Moriarty. London was disappointingly calm and quiet, there were the usual crimes that could be the villain's handiwork. But nothing really conclusive.

He was resting on his chair sulkier than ever when he grabbed his phone and checked the messages. Nothing. There were two messages sent to Jim with no answer:

_"__Bored again-Sherlock"_

_"__The crime has gone on vacation apparently-Sherlock"_

He didn't understand the reason of that silence, maybe the criminal got bored of him or maybe something happened to him. It felt awful, life got terribly dull and when that happened, he knew where to go.

* * *

><p>Maybe this was what panic felt like. This was dangerous, more dangerous than his own profession. Nothing, absolutely anything in his life has gotten into him more than Sherlock Holmes.<p>

It was stupid, childish, but he decided to stop talking to him. Perhaps only to maintain the control that he was so lately losing. He thought it could work, at least until he could feel… well actually until he could stop feeling, if that was even possible at this point.

It didn't help. Anyone would think working with terrorists, helping people to fake their deaths, helping people to _kill_ other people would keep one's mind disconnected from a certain person but it was just getting worse every time.

What also didn't help was the fact that he monitored Sherlock. He did it since the beginning. Of course at first it was due to an obsessive and manipulative factor, not a caring one.

How can he get the detective out of his mind when he's constantly receiving information about his activities?

Ridiculous.

It almost felt like an insult to ignore the detective's texts but he did it anyway. It was like proving a point to himself. How long he could stand pretending the single most significant person in this world, full of ordinary people, didn't exist. Pretending he was alone once again.

Jim sighed, defeated. He opened the door to his balcony carrying a half empty pack of cigarettes that hadn't been smoked for months. To look for relief in nicotine was a sign of desperation to him, but still, what other choice did he have?

It was dark and cold, he rested his elbows on the railing, breathing in the last source of comfort that rested on his fingers.

While he closed his eyes exhaling the smoke he concluded that this little experiment had been worthless and an evident mistake.

Fortunately something interrupted him from the self-pity. It was his phone.

After seconds of thinking, he put out the cigarette, grabbed his coat and left.

* * *

><p>It took him no time at all to contact old dealers. He got what he wanted, of course taking his precautions, he didn't need his elder brother sticking his nose in his life just now.<p>

In less than an hour he was back in 221 B preparing a low but effective dose.

_He was not doing it for him._

He kept repeating that to himself until he believed it. He didn't, but it was close enough.

He was preparing the needle now.

He needed this, so many thoughts in his head. Useless thoughts maybe they would go away for a while.

Suddenly everything, the entire world shut up and a strong feeling of pleasure and peace took hold of him.

The absolute silence in his mind palace was overwhelming. He was no longer bored, neither depressed about anything, he only wished for it to last.

It must have been a few minutes until he started to listen to voices again. Actually _a_ voice, _the_ voice.

That was new, he thought. He tried to focus his sight on the source of the familiar voice but it was hard.

It was so soft and soothing and little by little he could glimpse the person he had in front of him.

"Didn't know you were_ that_ desperate, honey"

He knew who it was but he just didn't believe it. He tried to articulate but it was more difficult than he expected.

"Yyou… wwh… you're not here. Get out!"

"I am"

Moriarty grabbed his hand and stroked it just to prove him that he was indeed there with him.

Sherlock still didn't quite believe it, though he didn't let go of the hand.

"Go away please"

"Hush, you better rest, darling"

Everything was spinning now that the criminal put him down sideways on the sofa.

The fact that he couldn't get Jim out of his head even when high was exasperating. He tried with the last strength of his own voice to keep talking.

"Get off my head"

"I'm afraid I can't help you with that"

He felt a tender touch on his head, a hand gently stroking his hair. And before he felt asleep he barely heard a last sentence from the criminal. It was almost a whisper.

"I'm sorry"


	7. Chapter 7

He realized he wasn't feeling the cold that was actually in the air, he could have easily have gone out without his coat, his heart had suffered a big shot of adrenaline as soon as he got that text.

He didn't know _why_ exactly, maybe because he didn't like Sherlock enjoying drugs rather than him. Or maybe he was just worried.

That last thought made him chuckle a little as he was driving his car to his most favorite less fancy flat in London.

Besides this could be a good way to restart the communication with each other.

He spent the short ride to 221 making up excuses of why he was actually going there, other than "worry" itself. He couldn't admit that just yet. Even when he could hear his own heart beating uncontrollably.

Jim parked on a quiet and dark street near the flat and walked from there.

Opening the front door was never a concern for him and to be honest he was a little surprised he never changed the lock, considering his past break-ins. Maybe he knew it was pointless when it came to the criminal, he wanted to smile but he was too nervous for that.

As soon as he got in the lobby he decided to calm down, being seen in that pathetic mess by Sherlock was unacceptable. Though Sherlock might not even be in a condition to observe his own shoes, but still, principles are principles.

He slowly and quietly walked up the stairs, it was a habit of him to do so, being subtle and cautious was the most important thing of his job and even personal life.

Opening the door of the flat was so easy that he found it a little offensive.

The flat was gloomy and chaotic. The only light in the room came from a little lamp near the sofa.

Nothing got his attention more than the figure that lay on that sofa, the detective's eyes were almost completely closed, he seemed to be passed out.

He stayed there in front of him for a couple of minutes, and relaxed a bit when he noticed the ups and downs of his chest.

Jim kept watching him silently, he looked beautiful even in that junkie mess he was at the moment. That was a sick thought, but oh well, he _was_ going to hell.

* * *

><p>He didn't actually think Sherlock would do this because of him, but still he felt responsible, for that and for ignoring the only person in his world that was worth everything.<p>

"I'm sorry"

The words felt new in his mouth, it was probably the first time he had ever said them, at least honestly.

* * *

><p>Consciousness was coming back again and as strong as ever, he knew that as soon as he opened his eyes he would feel sick and hurt. So he tried to postpone it a little more.<p>

He was doing so until the memories of that night came with a rush into his head and he violently opened his eyes and with it came the annoying physical pain.

Moriarty?

Jim has been in there? He dismissed the idea immediately. Although little by little the memories became very realistic, to a point he sat up and observed the room.

Nobody was in there. That never happened, he convinced himself. Feeling what he felt for the criminal was enough, but seeing him? That was _too much_.

Standing up was a nightmare, his back was killing him. He went to check for the window, since it was as dark as before he fell asleep.

It was still very dark, must have been 2 or 3 AM.

He walked to his room deciding to get some sleep on a proper bed. When he entered he stayed still, clearly shocked.

James Moriarty was lying on his bed with a shirt –his coat was on a chair- and with his stupidly expensive shoes off. His arms on the back of his head and he appeared to be asleep.

Only appeared because a few seconds after Sherlock put a foot on his bedroom, the criminal opened his eyes and stared at him as if not really aware of that completely bizarre situation.

"Hello sexy, didn't expect you to wake up so soon" he said hoarsely as he rolled over to his side to observe him better.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but his mind was out of function.

"Don't tell me you're still thinking I'm not here" the criminal added to the awkward silence a little annoyed. "How are you feeling?"

Sherlock cleared his throat.

"I'm ahm, fine, good" he replied as much serious as he could get. Which wasn't enough.

"What a custom of you, never asking for invitations" he added recovering his confidence once again.

"There's no surprise in invitations, and you know I love surprises"

"So, you either are the least opportune for visits or you came for the obvious reason" he asked, not really expecting an answer.

"A little bit of both" he replied quickly. "You should rest, come" he added pointing to the other side of the bed not occupied by him.

Sherlock panicked for a second, the idea of being in the same bed as Moriarty did things to him.

"I won't bite Sherlock" he said and smirked playfully.

The detective tried very hard to hide the blushing on his cheeks as he slowly walked to the bed, took off his shoes and lay down.

He felt the criminal's stare entirely on him and suddenly became very aware of how interesting the stains on the ceiling were.

"You said you were sorry" he instantly remembered and it also came with the memory of Jim touching his hair and wished he could hide the elevated pulse on his neck.

"Yes"

"Why?"

"Do I have to say it?"

"So you did it on purpose, the 'Silent Treatment' " He said ironically and slightly pissed.

"I have the weirdest ways of having fun"

"Then why are you here?" he turned his head to look at him in the eye. It didn't make sense, he didn't care enough about him to speak to him but he _did_ care to come here and doing… whatever it is he was doing.

Moriarty held his gaze and he was not playful anymore.

"Because I want to"

It was happening again, like in the pool, the black eyes were drowning him and that's why he flinched alarmed at the touch of Jim's fingers on the recent bruise on his arm, the left sleeve was still up, and the mark was available for the other to see and touch.

His fingers were cold and they felt comfortable on the warm bruise.

"It's a crime to humanity to numb your mind like that" Moriarty said pointing with his eyes to Sherlock's arm.

"Says the biggest criminal in England"

"Only England? Uhm I expected more…" he exclaimed acting offended.

Sherlock chuckled amused and so did Jim. The detective unconsciously placed his hand into the one Jim had on the bruise.

The dark eyes were absorbing him once again, he only realized he was so close from him when he could feel the other's breathings.

"This is crazy" the detective said in a murmur.

"Would we be here if it weren't?" the criminal whispered, looking at Sherlock's lips desperately.

Jim freed his hand from Sherlock's to place it in his neck as he finally reached for his lips.

It was so good, so intense that it hurt, it felt toxic, like it would kill them both in any minute, but it didn't matter.

The strong feeling made him dizzy with desire and he just got drowned in it, he placed his hand on Jim's hair, getting hold of it trying to keep him as near as possible, a futile try to not let him go away.

If there was a tiny place in their minds that still thought they didn't feel this way about each other, it disappeared for good in that moment.

They kissed for what seemed like a long time, their breathings were very irregular now, so, slowly they separated to catch for air.

"You really should rest Sherlock" Moriarty said breathlessly with glassy eyes.

The detective nodded, a bit disappointed that it finished but at the same time he was extremely exhausted and before he knew it he fell asleep with his hand still on the back of Jim's head.

Just to make sure he wouldn't go away.


	8. Chapter 8

Jim wasn't very much surprised that Sherlock fell asleep so quickly, he must have been truly exhausted. Though he wassurprised to be on his bed next to him and still with his hand on the other's neck, trying to assimilate the fact that they had just kissed.

He had a hard time convincing himself all of this was real. He slowly traced circles down his nape with his fingers.

It was.

It was real and the whole situation seemed ridiculous.

* * *

><p>The next morning the first one to wake up was Sherlock, the room was illuminated by the sunlight that passed through the window. That didn't catch much of his attention considering he had the most lethal criminal sleeping right next to him.<p>

In a matter of seconds he remembered it all. The drugs, the momentary bliss, Jim. Blood spread fast to his cheeks as he recalled the kiss.

He couldn't help but admire the figure he had in front of him, Jim looked so vulnerable and innocent, he immediately smirked when he understood why people said you look like an angel when you sleep. It was so far from the truth though.

It took him a minute to realize Jim's hand on his neck was freezing, he touched his arms, all of him was. He pulled his hand away and slowly got up from the bed to put a duvet on him.

He didn't understand how someone could sleep like that. But there were so many things he didn't understand right now.

Jim instantly cuddled himself under the duvet.

He realized how cozy was what he had just done, almost horrified of himself, he grabbed some clean clothes and decided to take a shower.

The hot water relaxed him a bit, he was dirty, he didn't think he'd go on that path again after reaching for Magnussen. But that morning, everything felt better. He touched the bruise on his arm, it was a little swollen for the warm water. It didn't have the same effect on his own fingers, didn't send chills down his spine.

Five minutes later, he turned off the shower, put on his clothes and got out.

When he entered the living room to head towards the kitchen he noticed the big mess from the night before. It was a little off-putting to watch, but he didn't feel like cleaning it up right now.

Instead he filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove, unconsciously grabbing two cups for tea.

He couldn't help to acknowledge that Jim was still in there, and could wake up in any moment, he didn't know how to face that. What was he supposed to say to him? What even meant all that happened a few hours ago?

Nothing could distract him from his thoughts except when he heard steps downstairs. Two pairs of them. He froze.

It couldn't be a worst time to come visit, it really couldn't. He had to think fast. There were drugs on the table and the top most wanted villain on his bed.

He decided the drugs were more visible at the moment.

Quickly he run to the living room and clumsily hid everything he could, not aware a syringe was left on the table.

Not a moment after that, they knocked at his door.

"Sherlock! You home?"

He froze for another second, considering his possibilities. They were really low. So before he knew it, he was opening the door to his flat.

"Yes" he faked a nervous smile at John and Mary.

John smiled widely when he saw him and came in. Mary smiled as well and hugged him affectionately.

Sherlock's heart was racing, he was feeling incredibly anxious now and was aware that it was more than likely Jim had woken up by now.

"What are you doing here?" he said trying not to sound rude, but failing slightly, while he was closing the door behind them.

"I texted you last night, I told you we would pass by today..." John gazed at the table while speaking and his eyes stopped on the single syringe, Sherlock caught him looking so he quickly added "but obviously you must've been busy"

"Yes. Yes! Actually, I've been doing some experiments, you see the mess, sorry!" he added flustered.

"So Sherlock! What's new in the detective business?" she asked mockingly while she headed to the kitchen.

Sherlock flinched, he wanted all of them out of his house, he hated himself for not checking the damn phone.

John and Sherlock followed her as an instinct.

"Uhm, not much, it's been quite boring recently…" he didn't stop eyeing to his bedroom.

"Sorry to hear that, evil must be sleeping".

"I hope so".

"What?"

"I mean, I hope not".

He swallowed thickly.

The kettle started to boil and both his visitors gazed at it.

"Oh, excuse me," he went to turn off the stove.

"So… you did read the texts," said Mary and Sherlock turned over to look at her.

"There are two cups on the table, you were waiting for us..." she said with a smirk.

He opened his eyes big, he wasn't counting on that.

"No he didn't," John said confident "Were you waiting for somebody?"

"Oh my god, is there somebody here? Is she here?" Mary asked smirking and lowering her voice, referring to Janine.

"What? No! Do you remember that? It was ages ago." Sherlock replied annoyed.

"Sherlock she was her maid of honor! Besides it was just a few months ago…"

"Yes, right, sorry about that I guess."

"Don't worry, she took care of it". She winked at him, amused.

* * *

><p>Jim opened his eyes lazily. He was all wrapped up in the sheets. It felt comfortable, until he noticed Sherlock wasn't there and he started to hear murmurs outside the room. He then woke up properly and stood up approaching the door so he could hear whoever was there.<p>

The doctor… and a woman. That woman.

He tensed his body when he knew Morstan was in there, near Sherlock.

Maybe it wasn't one of his best ideas, but he opened the door and got out.

* * *

><p>John and Mary were discussing about something incredibly unimportant to Sherlock, when they heard the door of his bedroom.<p>

Sherlock's heart stopped. The couple shifted their sight to the source of the sound. Sherlock helplessly tried to catch their attention.

"So, John, Mary!" he said looking at both of them enthusiastically and pronouncing their names purposefully loud so Jim would hear, although he was suspecting the other one knew where he was heading.

"How's that pregnancy going? I see you've gained six pounds" he observed and got a reproaching face from the woman.

Someone laughed at that, but it was none of them.

Moriarty stood there near Sherlock, looking at them, too calm for the situation they were in.

The expressions he noticed on John and Mary's face were definitely not good, John was very tense in his seat not giving credit to what his eyes were seeing. Mary stood nearer her husband in a protecting manner.

He understood the faces they were making were aggravated to the fact that Jim was barefoot with messy hair and not as presentable as he always made himself look. The detective wished he could be swallowed by the earth and never come back.

"Sherlock is that… Moriarty?" Mary asked, eyes fixed on the criminal. Jim flinched at the sound of her voice and clenched his jaw.

"Suppose we never properly met. Though I have to say I heard lovely things of you, James Moriarty." He approached his hand to shake hers but she stood still, not breaking eye contact.

"Oh well that's just rude" he overly furrowed his brow.

"Sherlock what is going on?" John was very pissed and he even looked a little hurt.

Sherlock shifted his gaze from each one of them to the other nervously.

"John, please, calm down we can talk about this, I can explain".

"Explain what?!" he raised his voice. "Was this your little experiment last night?" he pointed at Jim disgusted. He turned to look at the criminal. "You drugged him didn't you?"

A fierce look was taking possession of Jim's face after hearing that. But before he could say –or maybe violently murder some of the people in the room- anything he was interrupted.

"No! Of course not, John, he has nothing to do with that, just listen to me…"

"Just tell me, what the hell is he doing here?!"

"May I interrupt your little chat?" Jim cut off. "I just came for a visit, no need to be all bitchy about it, Johnny."

Before John could react to that, somebody else was onto him, Mary grabbed him by his collar and pushed him into the wall, Jim barely resisted.

"Mary, what the hell?!" Sherlock approached the two of them but she stopped him.

"Sherlock. You better stay where you are." She muttered deadly.

"Or what?" Moriarty added. Dead eyes challenging hers. "You're gonna kill him? Again?"

"I truly don't you recommend you to do that. I don't think Johnny will forgive you that again…" he said playfully at first and then added menacingly. "I, for sure, will not."

Sherlock noticed the bitterness in his tone, it was strange for the man to let his emotions float like that.

"Mary, leave him." The doctor said after a minute.

She knew there was no point in punching the biggest and most dangerous criminal in the country, if anything it would bring them greater problems than the ones they've been into these last months. So she let go.

"So, what are your plans then? You want us to believe you two are friends of some sort?" John snorted.

"Friends? No no no. We're not friends. It's not really my thing to fill the voids other people leave." He said casually. "I'm more of a starring role type".

"What is that supposed to mean?" the other replied quickly.

"Alright, alright just calm down this is really only a misunderstanding" Sherlock cut off. "Jim," he stopped. "James… Can you…" he didn't finish.

"Yes" Jim snapped. He liked Jim better. "Of course". he ignored the doctor's startled face, and looked at his wife instead, nothing but hate in that look. He then turned on his heels and went to the detective's bedroom.

"I think you should leave". Sherlock sentenced.

"Sherlock I told you to be careful with this guy. But what do you do? You do a sleepover together and do… whatever it is you did last night" he said gazing at the table behind them.

"I am always careful John. And I told you he had nothing to do with that. He just stayed here, period." He finished annoyed.

John realized what this was about, he'd been suspecting it since the criminal came back. Sherlock wanted him. He felt sad for his friend.

"Sherlock, he doesn't… care about…"

"Please leave".

His friend hesitated, and then left followed by his wife, with no words.

When Sherlock entered his room, Moriarty was putting on his coat, he had his shoes on again and looked a little bit more presentable.

"You shouldn't have done that…"

"You shouldn't have let them in" he said calm.

They stayed quiet for a moment.

"Why are you really here, Jim?"

"I like that one more, don't ever call me James again, it's hideous."

"Jim…" he continued. "What do you want this time?"

Moriarty looked at him surprised, and walked towards him. Without breaking eye contact, he grabbed his cheek with one hand and with the other he tangled his fingers into his hair to pull him closer and kiss him.

Sherlock didn't expect that, but he slowly closed his eyes into the kiss. It was tender at first but it became more desperate every second that passed. Sherlock grabbed him by his arms, then his neck. It felt natural.

It took all of Jim's strength to break apart, he looked him in the eyes, breathing with difficulty. "You really didn't figure that out by now?"

All of that felt surreal, he needed more of him, no drug would ever replace the things Moriarty made him feel.

However, the remaining small part of his brain that listened to the reason spoke.

"But… how can we…" he felt that a part of him should stop all of this. John's words echoing in his head, how could Jim Moriarty care about him? He was just a really good actor. "This can't work" he wanted to be told otherwise, he wanted Jim to laugh at him for saying that and kiss him again to make him forget John's suspicions.

That didn't happen, Jim didn't laugh nor kissed him. He had hurt him, he saw that in his eyes before he hid it under his cold mask.

Jim slowly let go of him, escaping out of his hands, observing anything but Sherlock's eyes.

"Jim, I…"

"Don't bother" he snapped. "I know".

Without another word the criminal got out of the room and then, out of the flat.

All that Sherlock wanted to do was to run after him and take all that back, but he stayed there instead, in the loneliness of his suddenly cold bedroom, confused with his mind and with everything.

Had he known that in weeks from now everything would go to hell he'd had said all he wanted to say, he'd had said that they could try, that despite all their unfortunate history together, he still trusted him, he'd had said that, yes, he wanted him as well.

But for now, he stood there, starting to regret all he could have done.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry for the delay! I've been really busy lately but I appreciate so much your reviews, they mean a lot.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Many different POV in this chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>John was sitting on the couch in his house absentmindedly watching the TV. It was hard to focus his attention on anything but in the scene that took place in his best friend's place the day before. By now it was far obvious how Sherlock felt about the criminal, he was in too deep. He tried to focus on the TV, a great deal with a disappearing of some important jewel from the renaissance time. 'Must've been him' he thought. Usually it'd have been something that could catch his eye, but not now, he just didn't seem to care.<p>

He was brought to reality when he heard a knock at the door, quickly he turned off the TV and went to open the door to his and Mary's flat.

John is mildly surprised to see Mycroft at the other side of the door. He _should_ have expected it really…

"Good morning John, may I come in?"

He considers.

"Yeah, yes of course."

They both enter the flat and Mycroft sits on a chair next to the coffee table, where John leaded him. John sits opposite of him on a couch.

"So… what's bringing you up here?" He knew.

"You _know_ why I'm here." He smiles not at all amused.

"Oh! Sorry, do you want anything?" he starts to stand up.

"No. Thanks." John sits back down. "I only came here to chat."

"Alright."

"Is Mrs. Watson home?" He asked politely obviously knowing the answer.

"She's having a shower, we can wait for her if you want, it won't be long…"

"Not necessary, this will be quick."

* * *

><p>Neither Sherlock nor Jim slept that night. The latter had to restrain the need to withdraw a big plan he'd been planning for weeks about the robbery of Ms. María Francisca Olivé's Ruby necklace. She is a Spanish young woman whose necklace was given to her from past generations and not only the jewel, but the story behind it made the black market willing to pay anything for it, really, <em>a lot.<em>

The plan got perfectly done, the young lady only realized its lost two hours later.

He thought that'd be something interesting for the detective to work on. Yes, he'd love that.

Maybe in tomorrow's newspapers he'd see that and maybe, just maybe, think of him. Perhaps he'd appreciate the great case and think of him, but only as his nemesis, because that's the way the detective needed him for. He needs the challenge, the thrill. Just that, only that, because that's the way it works, the only way it always did.

In his bed, he blinked away the tears, feeling disgusted with himself, with those emotions. Feeling ashamed of the fact that a part of him expected something good at all, he never felt more naïve, because even _now_ he still did.

The next day, Jim passed through Baker St. by his own, he thought about going there again, but decided it was stupid.

Still, he was there the following day and the next, and the next. Always at night, when he was free from all the crime of the day, he was there. Because that's exactly what he did, just go there, nothing else. Of course he wasn't stupid enough to go as "himself" exactly. He wasn't being guarded so the least he could do was to put on a character, one he used before, the "cabbie". Nobody pays attention to them right? That's what he needed, he had attracted too much of attention by staying at Sherlock's place, he knew the _British Government_ would let the doors of the bank, the prison and the Tower of London open before letting his little brother get hurt. That was not the case but, who could blame him anyways?

He started to wonder how people handled the humiliation of dealing with these kind of feelings every day, with being so careless with themselves, because he had never felt more sick in his life.

* * *

><p>John kept his gaze, waiting impatiently for the other to start speaking.<p>

"I have been informed that James Moriarty was in 221B yesterday." The elder Holmes started. "And, of course, that you were there as well."

The doctor wasn't sure whether to say something, so he just waited.

"Now, I _do_ have to admit I knew they have seen each other maybe a couple of times after James came back from his… absence." He continued. "Nevertheless, it caught my attention that he stayed the night there. So please John, do tell me anything you know about this."

John could see that Mycroft was worried, not visibly, but in the Holmes way. He hesitated about saying anything, but after all, he trusted him, he had proved him that much and perhaps leaving this to Mycroft was the best choice there was at the moment.

"Look," he started. "I honestly don't know much more than what you just told me. Yes, we saw Moriarty there but I don't know _why_ exactly." He _guessed_.

* * *

><p>Jim was right. Sherlock knew it was his case and smiled to himself after reading it in the paper. Though when Greg asked him to join in the team, he pretended it was boring and a waste of time, for once he wanted a regular case, one that didn't involve Jim, one that could take him out of his head for a while.<p>

Since the moment Jim left the flat, he didn't stop regretting what he had said, in fact on the fifth day after that, he believed he regretted it more than ever.

It was early midnight, Sherlock stared outside the window, no seeing anything in particular, only feeling the brushing of the strings beneath his fingers, this time considering not to upset Mrs. Hudson –the night before he was making horrible annoying ear-wrenching sounds with it, he even damaged one string, so he got an unpleasant visit from her landlady at 4 AM, who, he realized, could have the dirtiest of mouths when pissed.-

This time it was a sad harmony, it could've made cry anyone who listened to it. But he didn't, because he was drowning in his thoughts.

He was certain he could stay like that the entire night, just playing, and letting go. Instead he came back to reality when he heard Mrs. Hudson's voice, over the door, he instantly thought she was going to scold him again, but that wasn't the case.

"Sherlock! Don't you listen?! There's a fire next door!"

He stopped playing, he came back entirely, there was a lot of noise outside, and yelling and a fire alarm.

"Oh, so?"

"So?! We should go help dear! Besides it could reach here, let's go!"

He put the violin down.

"It won't reach here, it's nothing, I don't even smell anything burning"

"Sherlock you either come by yourself or I get you." She sounded deadly, even more than the past night.

He tried to argue but there was no point at all.

"Fine." He stood up sulkily. And went to the street with her.

As soon as they got to the street there was a lot of people observing and panicking, and he overheard Mrs. Hudson talking to a neighbor.

"Martha don't worry, my husband and a few others checked the house and there's no one there, I think they're on vacation or something, it was nothing just a few papers got burned in there nothing to worry about, they cancelled the alert."

"Oh mine, thank God Lily…"

He was going to go inside again when something a few yards from him caught his eye, he couldn't see well because of all the people gathered together, but he knew him, it looked like him but different, from the little he could observe… he narrowed his eyes trying to find a logical explanation to what, actually _who_ he was seeing.

"Sherlock you were right, we should go back inside, I'm really tired and I have to do the shopping tomorrow morning"

He lost his focus for a second and when he tried to find him again, there was no one there. He found himself in the flat once again two minutes later, completely confused.

Something didn't fit. That couldn't have been him, right?

Although…

"…_I think they're on vacation" , "…just a few papers got burned in there nothing to worry about."_

That man.

Could it be? He wrung out his brain trying to convince himself that it couldn't, that the person over there, who disappeared in that specific moment, wasn't Jim Moriarty. Because nothing good could come out of that.

He'd been right, that was nothing, not a fire, but something more complex than that.

Mycroft.

* * *

><p>On the fifth night Jim still continued with his plan of, not doing anything really, just passing over and pretending to be somebody else, he was so good at that.<p>

He was driving over the blocks trying to be careful not to seek unwanted attention. That night he had decided that it was the last, he was aware of how pathetic what he was doing was, wandering over your cru… _significant other_ 's house too afraid to actually go to him was not something that would look good on such a malicious criminal.

However what he was lately losing was his cool temper, something that you need in situations like these.

He didn't remember where or when he left the cab and was running over to a frantic crowd near 221. He remembered someone yelling "fire!" but it was all too blurry, he didn't feel like himself, the plan was to be undercover, to stay out of sight, not this, never this.

The feeling of calmness that he felt when he saw Sherlock on the crowd lasted less than two seconds, because a second after he couldn't see him anymore a person grabbed him by his arms and another one covered his mouth with a damp cloth.

Before losing consciousness he thought Sherlock might have seen him. And that maybe it was the last time they saw each other.

He hated Sherlock, he hated himself, Moriarty wouldn't be in this situation, Moriarty would've left that place a long time ago. He hated that Moriarty was long gone now.

* * *

><p>"So..." he continued, the elder Holmes seemed very decided to go into his soul and mind with only his eyes. "that's what happened."<p>

"You must have your opinion John." Mycroft pressured.

John felt nervous, still not entirely sure about doing the right thing.

"Tell me everything you know."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorrysorrysorrysorry.**  
><strong>Before anything I'd like to point out that I'm not trying to make Mycroft and John the bad guys, they're just really stupidly(well... it's Jim) worried.<strong>  
><strong>P.S: Promise it'll get better ! Love the reviews 3<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**I am so so sorry for the extremely long delay, I've been very busy with college and finals I was so stressed I couldn't bring myself to put the amount of time that this story needs so I can do it the best I can. Hope you can forgive me! :(**

**Here is a new chapter, I expect to update as soon as possible this time.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em>He was standing right in front of the door he'd been intending to cross for so many days. But this time, he entered and walked up the stairs, not as discretely as usual, he knew that if somebody was up there, they were for sure conscious of his presence, not that he cared.<em>

_He hurried once he heard the familiar notes of that violin and opened the door._

_"__You're late." A deep voice announced._

He opened his eyes, annoyed to be out of that dream, to find himself in a small empty room, barely lightened, he tried to move his arms but in that second he realized they were tied up. Rapidly everything made sense and in that moment, a door behind him creaked open.

Jim laughed when he heard the big brother coming in.

"What a sick little game the one you played."

Slow steps approached behind him.

"It was no game, James. It was merely an experiment, something I taught Sherlock when kids, fire exposes our priorities."

He was now in front of the criminal.

"Didn't expect my little brother to be yours. Although, I did suspect it."

"I'm as surprised as you are" He added bitterly.

"Well you must know he _is_ interested in you, at least intellectually, right?"

"Oh yes. I shall hope so."

"Didn't count you as insecure."

"Mmh, just realistic." He finished.

He waited and then continued speaking.

"I imagine you're troubled about my recent stay at your little brother's." He looked at him.

"A little, I would have to be extremely positive or idiotic not to give it importance."

"You're probably wrong."

"Am I?," He replied. "I'm not at all thrilled about what I heard."

"Did Doctor Watson turn me in? I must be in trouble then."

"I have a few questions for you."

"Do I need to be tied up for that? I hope you don't treat all your visitors this rudely, a simple letter or a coffee could have worked you know?"

"I guess we're just as dramatic you and I." He ignored a _"You wish"_ murmur, and followed. "Me having questions, doesn't mean I have any intentions in letting you go."

"Oh now you're just being clingy." He rolled his eyes.

"Catching you was ridiculously easy, embarrassingly I should say. You let you guard down several times."

"Do I have to guess the question or…?"

"You have feelings"

"Well of course I have! For example, right now I'm incredibly annoyed!" Jim yelled the last word.

"For him." Mycroft continued, not flinching at the sudden rising of voice.

Jim didn't answer so he continued.

"That's what I've been persuaded of anyways, and basing on your latest actions, I can't completely take that off the table." He continued. "Regardless of that, I can't possibly imagine someone like you expressing any sane or even healthy emotion to anyone, and certainly not to your biggest obsession." He added cruelly not believing he could hurt the person in front of him in the slightest.

He was right, Jim thought, he _was _insane, it was only logical to think that any emotion that came out of him _were_ as well. With the difference that only one thing had changed, he didn't want to destroy Sherlock anymore. That was a start.

Still no answer came from Jim's mouth.

"What did you do that night?"

"That's rather intimate isn't it?" He teased.

This time the quiet one was Mycroft.

"Well, if you insist. Surely contrary to Johnny's belief, I didn't drug him, your little brother was on drugs when I went there. Apparently he can't live without me, he's so sweet isn't he?" He joked, trying to sound as dark as he could to annoy the person in front of him.

"Why did you go?"

"Oh it wasn't to take any advantage or anything! I was genuinely worried for the poor thing, so smart and so weak at the same time. I don't want to lose such a unique partner."

Mycroft sighed and started to go to the point.

"You know this…" Mycroft searched for the right word. "_Relationship_, can't continue I'm sure?"

"Funny thing, you're not the first one to tell me that." It wasn't funny at all.

* * *

><p>He didn't grab anything when he left the flat, he wasn't aware of the things that happened around him, all he could think of was Jim.<p>

He stopped a cab and grunted the address to the driver, his breathing was very irregular and his nerves so far from being controlled.

The cab stopped and he gave him everything he found in his pockets and left.

When at destiny, he knocked, actually punched the door until a blonde woman wearing a dressing gown opened, ready to scold him, but stopped when she found Sherlock there, he didn't stop to explain, just entered furiously.

"John!" He yelled walking up the stairs until he saw his frined on the doorway to the flat, also barely dressed.

"Sherlock, what the he…?"

"What happened?!" The other interrupted. "Tell me everything you know, NOW!"

John was startled to say the least.

* * *

><p><strong>Your reviews always make my day guys, they're really appreciated :D<strong>


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